


dsco

by ilaeth



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Makeup, Self-Indulgent, Useless Lesbians, literally no plot just lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26274874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilaeth/pseuds/ilaeth
Summary: Hanamaki and Matsukawa get ready for Takeru's birthday party.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	dsco

**Author's Note:**

> song title taken from dsco by sweet trip

“C’mere, babe.” Hanamaki’s face wrinkles as wispy pink flutters down to gather on the high points of her cheeks. It tickles like feathers but itches like hell. “Stay still. Stop making that face or you’ll crease the foundation.”

“I can’t help it. I’m sweating so much I don’t know if I’ve peed myself or it’s just that hot.”

“This is carpet--it best not be fucking pee.”

"I mean, I don't think it is? But I honestly can't tell at this rate. Sorry, Issei. But I kinda wish you'd stop cutting my fringe, 'cause you’ll make me look like I have a receding hairline.” 

Matsukawa’s tongue sticks out the side of her mouth as she trims. Hanamaki knows little to nothing when it comes to scrubbing herself up; she’s perfectly happy with her brand of Hubba Bubba soap they sell down at the corner shop that she uses to both clean her face and ass. She shares an eyeliner pencil with her brother sometimes but it’s a few years old and is beginning to smell like paint. Having her girlfriend do her makeup is nice for once, seeing as the last person to do it was Oikawa for prom, and they’d both ended up glueing their eyelids shut with eyelash glue after deciding to drink before getting dressed. Matsukawa, for all her modesty and false bravado, is  _ actually _ good when it comes to doing makeup. She doesn't have to do much to her own face, with how her lashes are dark and long naturally, and also the fact that she's just generally really hot, but the purple lipstick does suit her. Hanamaki knows her own must have smudges of it here and there.

Hanamaki looks up, cross eyed, to watch her girlfriend snip her fringe vertically to feather out the tips. Her ginger roots are pink and wheat-dry from the bleach and dye but it’s worth it, she thinks, if it means she gets pampered and fawned over like this. “You could pull it off.”

“I’d look like Pennywise.”

“Hot.” Matsukawa lets the hair flutter back down to her forehead. She sits back onto her heels, and the soft fat against her thighs gathers at the pressure against her feet. Hanamaki’s mouth dries at the sight and she wills herself  _ not _ to get riled up before Oikawa’s kid-cousin’s birthday party.  _ Inappropriate, Takahiro, _ she scalds.  _ Oikawa would lose her mind and shit in my lunch for the next year if she finds out I jerked it before her cousin's party. You know what she’s like. _ “Hold on, lemme snip a little more.”

“No,” she whines, reaching up to catch Matsukawa’s wrists. “It’s itchy enough already and there’s hair in my bra and down my shirt and I refuse to end up with a mullet again.”

“Really? I kinda liked it.”

“Absolutely  _ not.” _

“Fine, fine. Let me just touch up your eyeshadow.” When she sits back this time it’s to rise to her feet. Where Hanamaki has long legs and has arms that could clothesline a classroom with one wrong turn, Matsukawa is lean and fit. She’s golden from the sun and there’s a criss-cross tan line on her shoulder blades from when they’d played volleyball in her back garden in nothing but sports bras and boxers. She watches as she drags her curls, frizzed out from August’s humidity, into a loose knot at the base of her skull. A few strands fall down and frame her cheeks. She catches Hanamaki’s eye and quirks a brow. “See something you like?”

She blurts: “I can’t believe I’m dating someone who still wears chinos.”

Matsukawa’s other eyebrow rises to join the other. She looks down to her cuffed shorts and shrugs. “I think they’re cool.”

“You look like a member of a boy’s polo team.”

“What the fuck is polo?”

“Rich people’s sport.” Hanamaki rises, too. Her shirt’s hem reaches where her shorts end. She lifts it up to tuck the front into her waistline before slipping her feet into her Crocs and checking her hair in the mirror. “My mom is going to cry when she sees I’ve gotten the 90’s Ellen DeGeneres haircut again.”

“It’s only the fringe.” Behind her Matsukawa comes up to check her out in the mirror. She reaches up to fix it in the reflection, and tilts her head when she brings the hair from the sweep behind her ear to hang just above her eyebrows. “You look more like Stephanie from Lazy Town than Ellen.” 

“Great. Really helps my confidence.”

“It should. She’s a badass.”

Hanamaki fiddles with the tips of her fringe before allowing herself to relax her shoulders and drop the pinched I-just-sucked-a-lemon-look on her face. “Turn around,” Matsukawa says, reaching over to the dresser to hastily clean a fluffy brush on her pillows before tapping into an eyeshadow pan and blending a little into her crease. “You look great. Seriously.”

“You’re just saying it because you did this yourself.”

“Maybe.” Their lips meet in a soft, dry kiss, before Matsukawa pulls away and threads a feathered earring through her ear. “I’m pretty proud of that dye job. Even though it needs a good hair-mask.”

“Eh, it’ll be fine.”

“Your hair is thin enough to use for felting.”

“The multi-purpose girl I am.” They descend the stairs, flip-flops clacking against wooden floors to come into the kitchen. Matsukawa reaches out for her sunglasses on their table and threads them into her hairline. “Where did you put the cake?”

“The what?” Hanamaki looks up from her crouch by the fridge to pick up the cream puffs she’d put in there last night. “The--oh  _ shit!” _

“You left it in the car, didn’t you?”

“Fuck!”

“It’ll be fine. Look, there’ll be plenty there, anyway. _And_ we have the cream puffs. Besides, last time we brought cake you ate most of it in the car and threw up on the carpet.” Matsukawa picks up the four-pack of wine coolers from the sideboard and nudges her head towards the door. Outside, parked up behind a hot-dog vendor, Hanamaki’s shitty little truck is hotter than an oven. The cake in the back has nearly melted, with chocolate icing smeared up against the outer box and leaking through the cardboard folds. It smells like spilt milk so she lights up a cigarette to try and mask the smell.

Hanamaki reaches up to fiddle with her fringe in the reflection of the mirror as Matsukawa takes a left. “Did you wrap the present?”

“No? I thought you did?”

“Shit. Oh, well. At least he knows what he’s going to get without the joy of tearing the paper open.”

“It’s more eco-friendly this way.”

“And cheaper.”

They kick up dust as they drive up the road and towards the rising sun. With the window cracked open just enough as to not create that awful drumming sound, the wind blows Matsukawa’s curls from her face. She’s freckled and gorgeous. Hanamaki idly reaches over to lean a hand over hers on the gearstick, and watches the corner of her lips quirk into a smile. She passes the cigarette over and receives a soft kiss to her fingertips as it's held to her lips, before bringing the cigarette back to her own. _I'm lucky,_ she thinks. _I'm so lucky._


End file.
